


so show me why you're strong

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Loss of Control, M/M, Resentment, a Very Bad one, not a Good Fic, they just lab partners in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And he was so tall, the doc was so tall, and sans had never really noticed that before, never really noticed how goddamn short he was in comparison, how easy it would be for someone that tall to incapacitate him, and he’d never had a reason to notice that kind of thing before."</p><p>sans works late a lot, and gaster never drinks. </p><p>sans works late. and gaster drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so show me why you're strong

**Author's Note:**

> this is....this is Really Bad
> 
> i just.... i just. ive never written my main man gaster before, and i definitely like to interpret him in a bunch of different ways, but me and a friendo of mine were talking, and..yeah. 
> 
> please do look at the tags, though. it's not super graphic, but just in case

 

Sans couldn’t move. He was pinned in place, body and soul and thought all bound up together in his paralyzed form. Body and soul and thought and breath— he couldn’t breathe, like something was stuck in his throat, like his shock was choking him, his shock and his fear and his utter confusion.

He couldn’t move, not with the way his body felt so heavy and not with the way the body on top of him weighed him down. Not with the way the bitter stench of… alcohol? was that _alcohol?_ he’d never seen him drink before why would he be drunk? suffocated him, forcing itself down into his nonexistent lungs. 

And he was so tall, the doc was so tall, and sans had never really noticed that before (never noticed how dangerous it was), never really noticed how goddamn short he was in comparison, how easy it would be for someone that tall to incapacitate him, and he’d never had a reason to notice that kind of thing before but now— now here he was, legs too short to reach the ground, dangling off the table, and god, he wished he wasn’t so short. 

He wished a lot of things but he also didn't wish anything, because he couldn’t move, his thoughts wouldn't move but they were racing too fast to keep up with, and then there were hands on the collar of his lab coat, and the feeling of a hand too close to his neck snapped his thoughts back into place.

“g-gaster, wait,“ he finally managed to choke out.

The hands didn’t hesitate in the slightest, the body didn’t let up, and the only reason sans knew for sure that this was _Gaster_ was because he’d been talking to him just a few moments ago— one sided conversation, maybe? he was working late at the lab because there were a few more equations that needed finishing and he wasn’t all that tired, he’d finished his last cup of coffee not that long ago so he wouldn’t have been able to sleep for a while anyways; and Gaster had shown up and maybe he hadn’t really been paying close attention to their conversation because now that he thought about it the Doc had seemed kind of out of it and he’d stood up to offer him some coffee and then his coffee mug and pens and all that work he’d spent the last few hours on were crashing to the floor and he was pressed up against the table with his boss’ body flush against him and—

and his breath stank of _alcohol_ and sans was so confused and this wasn’t like him at all and sans was scared, he was scared of this man because he was suddenly way taller and way stronger and way more dangerous than he’d ever been, moving and shifting and pushing him higher up onto the desk; sans heard a flask fall and shatter somewhere far away.

“gaster, _stop_ ,” he said, because this was too much, too fast, too confusing, he tried to push against the doctor’s chest but it was like he didn’t feel it at all. 

His spine ached where it was digging into the edge of the table, bent back and felt like it would snap in two— harder, harder, _too much ow ow_ when he tied to twist out of his friend’s grip. 

He admired this man, this _friend_ , this super smart, amazing scientist, who anyone would give an arm or two to work under, who sans did work under— worked alongside, almost. He admired him and respected him and while their relationship was bordering somewhere between casual and professional, what with the nicknames and the jokes and stuff, he’d never expected anything like this.

He’d never thought ‘like this’ was even an option, it would never happen, it was unthinkable, _impossible_ , this nice scientist dude who put up with sans’ shit jokes and always took his coffee the exact same way and only got mad when an experiment went really wrong. 

But then that nice scientist's hands were pulling at the buttons on his coat and sliding clumsily up his shirt and grabbing and touching where no one had ever touched before and it was suddenly the only option out there. 

“g-get off of me— get off me!” he stuttered, grasping at Gaster’s wrists, _“gaster!_ get—“

He was met with a mouthful of lab coat when Gaster clapped an arm over his mouth, pressing his head further against the table, and _god,_ no no this wasn’t Gaster this couldn’t be _Gaster_ , this couldn’t be Gaster that gripped his leg when he tried to kick at him, couldn’t be Gaster that twisted that leg and then twisted sans, flipped him over unceremoniously and shoved him down _hard_ , so hard his head spun when his skull struck the cold metal.

“Shhhh,” sans felt more than heard him whisper against his skull, and now it was his hipbones that ached, his hipbones that dug into the edge of the table, his hipbone with a boney hand curled around it, a boney hand groping around under his shirt, his lab coat bunched up around the bottom of his ribs, his friend’s body pinning him awkwardly onto the desk, and something very obvious— scary, even through two layers of cloth— against his pubis. 

Why? he wanted to ask, why be quiet if there’s no one else here— is there someone else here? Should he yell? Could he yell? Why be quiet? Part of him was glad Gaster was staying quiet too because then maybe he could pretend it wasn’t Gaster’s hips rubbing against him or the sound of Gaster’s zipper being pulled down ringing through the air.

Sans froze. His mind didn’t make the terrible connection until he felt his own pants being yanked down and something rutting against him, no layers to protect him now— nothing to protect him now, he couldn’t even protect himself what kind of monster—

he didn’t care what kind of monster he was, what kind of weakling, he just wanted to not be here, he wanted to not be here so bad, so so bad when he felt something prod at his tailbone. 

“stop,” he croaked, strain on his ribs hard to breathe please no, “please stop, gaster, ple—ah!”

Gaster forced his way in, harsh and quick, and shoved sans’ head down onto the desk again in warning— be quiet, be quiet, sans felt tears gathering in his eyes because it hurt, god it hurt—

his ribs and his hips and his spine and his pelvis and his soul, his skull, his soul, his soul ached and the hot tears in his eyes hurt too. 

His buried his face in the crook of his arm and decided to just _be quiet_ , focus on something else that wasn’t this, focus on the coffee maker he forgot to turn off and the pillow he needed to pick up at home and whatever meal Papyrus would have ready in the morning— and that was a bad idea, a new stream of tears built up because god, _Papyrus,_ what was he gonna tell Papyrus? What would his little brother think of him now— weak and helpless and fucked into a desk by his fucking boss, his fucking _friend_ , his drunk fucking friend. 

His body shook and rocked against the metal with each thrust. 

He dug his fingers into the sleeve of his coat and kept fucking quiet. 

He kept fucking quiet, and Gaster did a pretty swell job of that too— which sans was glad for, so glad for, he didn’t think he could take hearing his friend moan above him. The only sounds that filled the room were the rhythmic pounding of bone against metal and a few sharp inhales or exhales or sobs sans couldn’t bury deep enough. 

The end couldn’t come quick enough; it dragged on for what felt like forever. 

And when it did end, when he felt Gaster’s release coat the inside of his ribcage and finally finally felt him pull out, he almost didn’t want it to. He didn’t want to focus on whatever happened next. 

When the weight let up and Gaster let go, he slid off the desk and sank to the floor and felt disgusting. His hands shook. 

It was quiet. 

He wiped at his eyes and his hands shook. 

He heard a sigh somewhere nearby, a resigned, regretful sort of sigh. 

“…Go home, sans.”

He looked up to see Gaster sitting limply in a chair a few desks away, head in his hand. Like he was nursing a fucking headache. 

Sans stared for a moment, until Gaster looked up.

“I said go home.”

Sans flinched, scooting back a few inches before scrambling to his feet. He felt woozy. Dizzy. Disgusting. 

He could feel Gaster’s eyes on him as he hurriedly pulled up his pants and straightened out his coat and pulled it tight around him and stumbled out of the room. Could feel his eyes on him as he turned the corner. Felt like his eyes were still on him as he leaned against the wall to catch his shaky breath. 

He didn’t try to catch his thoughts. 

His hands shook. 

He didn’t know what Gaster was thinking or what he was feeling, collapsed in that chair, but he hoped it was fucking regret. Self-hatred. Something. Something bad. 

He didn’t know what he himself was thinking, or what he was feeling (fucking regret; self-hatred), and maybe that was a good thing. 

He was pretty sure his favorite mug had shattered on the floor.

He pulled his lab coat tighter around him and pushed himself up.

His hands shook.

 

 


End file.
